


old wounds

by 44caliberclark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/44caliberclark/pseuds/44caliberclark
Summary: Earth is dying, covered in the angels that fell from heaven with a hunger for human flesh. Dean and Castiel live in a tiny town with a couple hundred other people, surrounded by walls to keep the angels out. Romance doesn’t bloom easy when you’re like Castiel, but Dean is set on showing him it doesn’t have to be so hard.





	old wounds

“Go on a date with me,” Dean says, bursting into the room without warning. Castiel looks up from the scraped knee of a six-year-old.

“I’m busy, Dean,” he replies, in that weight-of-the-world tone, because this is the third time in just as many days that Dean has shown up at the clinic and tried to talk Cas into a date. Dean shuts up and closes the door, going to lean against the wall beside the mother of the child. She seems eager to break the new awkward silence that has appeared and speaks up as if Dean hasn’t come in at all.

“Thank you for seeing her, Castiel,” she says. “I could have patched her up, but you’re her favorite doctor and we were only just next door.”

“I don’t mind,” he answers, and he smiles up at the little girl. She’s sitting on the cot looking unfazed by her wound, and Castiel kneels in front of her, cleaning the scrape. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing I couldn’t have handled. I’d’ve walked it off, but my mom said it could get infected,” the little girl says.

“As always, your mother is right. If you’d have tried to walk it off, I would’ve had to amputate it within the week,” Castiel says.

“Oh, come on, Castiel. That’s not true,” the little girl argues.

Castiel stands and goes to the desk to pick up a wide square plaster and then returns as he unwraps it. “You’re right, Claire. I’m lying in an attempt to keep you out of trouble. You’ll find a lot of people will do that to you.”

He puts the plaster over the scrape and she jumps down from the table.

“Alright, get out of here,” Castiel grumbles with a warm smile. He gives the little girl’s head a pat and then looks at her mother. “Have a good day, Mrs. Novak.”

She smiles with the same warmth that he has, looking at him with heart eyes. Dean gets the impression that Claire isn’t the only reason they stopped by the town’s clinic. Dean gets it. “You, too, Castiel.”

She heads out the door with Claire, closing it behind them, and Castiel looks at Dean with an expectant expression. He doesn’t say anything, and Dean takes it as his cue to smile and come closer. He sits on the bed and leans back, waiting to see if Castiel is going to say something in that annoyed, clipped tone he always uses with Dean.

“Can I take your silence as a ‘yes’?” Dean asks.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Dean, why can’t you take no for an answer?”

“Let me ask you something, Cas,” Dean says. “It’s been bothering me since I asked you out last week. Do you feel like I’m harassing you? Do you want me to stop? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me or threatened or anything.”

Castiel’s presence changes in an instant, his expression softening and the rigidity leaving his posture.

“No,” Castiel says. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Dean tilts his head and smirks. “Does that mean I might get a ‘yes’ sometime soon?”

Castiel hums a neutral, thoughtful sound and crosses his arms. He leans against the wall opposite the bed, looking at Dean carefully.

“Dean, I’ve never dated anyone before,” he says. “There are a lot of things I’m scared of. A lot of things I’m not sure I could ever do.”

Dean narrows his eyes, giving the words some thought. “How old are you?”

“How old do I look?”

“Geez, I don’t know. 35?” Dean answers.

“Alright. I’m 35. What’s it got to do with anything?”

“How’d you get away with being single for 35 years? You’re hot, you’re smart. How can you tell me you never dated anyone before the angels fell?” Dean asks.

Castiel looks away and seems to struggle for an answer, so Dean relieves him of the duty.

“No, okay. What are you scared of?” he asks. Castiel looks up at him again and gives an odd, sad smile.

“Plenty.”

“Name something. Why don’t you think we should date?” Dean asks. “You keep saying no, but you like me. I mean, you don’t want me to stop asking, so there must be something here, right? Unless you just love the attention, in which case I’m happy to shower you with that.”

“I’m- I’m afraid to get hurt, Dean. I’m afraid you’ll break up with me and I won’t remember how to be by myself. I’m afraid I could hurt you. I’m afraid you’d see why I shouldn’t be liked, why I’m so hesitant, and you’d ruin my life,” Cas says.

Dean smiles and leans forward, looking at Cas with half-lidded eyes. “God, you’re mysterious as hell.”

Castiel huffs and rolls his eyes, going to the desk where he keeps his supplies and carefully moving a few things so there’s a semblance of order again.

“I’m not asking you to date me, okay? I’m asking for one night somewhere nice, just me and you and a few drinks.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, turning to look at him again and leaning back against the desk. Whatever he’d planned to say initially dies on his tongue and he looks down. “No drinks.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Dean asks, genuinely surprised.

“I mean it. No alcohol, Dean,” Castiel says. “And you have to generate the conversation. I’m no good at it.”

“Alright, absolutely,” Dean agrees, getting to his feet.

“You can pick where we go, but I don’t want it to be an activity. I’d like to talk. I don’t want to go to the theatre.”

“Alright. What if we went somewhere quiet and away from the town and I brought food?” Dean says. “No alcohol.”

“Away from the town?” Castiel asks.

“I know a place,” Dean promises. “It’s quiet. We could talk without a single interruption.”

Castiel looks doubtful. “I suppose you won’t tell me where this place is.”

“When do you leave here?” Dean asks.

“Six.”

“I’ll come by at 6:03,” Dean says.

“Okay. I’ll leave at 6:04, with or without you.”

“You’re awful high maintenance.”

“Is that going to stop you?” Castiel asks, offering a smile.

Dean comes near him, leaning in to give him a kiss and then thinking better of it, moving to land his lips on Castiel’s cheek. He smells like the soap used on his clothes and sweat. “It hasn’t stopped me yet.”

He pulls back and heads for the door without another word, and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief at the silence that follows when the door shuts.

Castiel steps out the door of the clinic at six, his heart heavy as he thinks of hurrying home and away from this date. There are too many unknowns, too many things he can mess up. Unfortunately, Dean is waiting outside with a handful of flowers and a plastic bag with a pie tin and water bottles inside. He had been fixing his tie in the reflection of one of the windows of the building.

“You look very nice,” Castiel says.

He’s wearing a red tie and an untucked white button up and a clean pair of jeans. Dean smiles and hands Castiel the flowers, giving him a smile that looks like it hurts.

“You, too,” he says. He’s nervous, Castiel realizes, and thank god for small miracles.

“I look like I just got out of work, Dean. Where are we going?” Castiel says. He looks at the flowers as he speaks, trying to sniff them without being obvious. They’re pretty and colorful and Dean must’ve gone outside the walls to get them, which makes them an even lovelier gift. There are two daffodils, a pink rose, and two tulips, cushioned by green miscellaneous that was picked for fullness. Castiel never wants to stop looking at them.

“You like ‘em?” Dean asks, looking oddly concerned.

“They’re very nice,” Castiel assures him, hoping his enthusiasm doesn’t bleed into the words. He loves them and he’s been incredibly fond of Dean since he first met him, and he doesn’t think there’s any way their dating could end well. Now, of course, Dean has brought him beautiful flowers and he can’t back out of the deal. It’s a positively cruel circle.

Dean smiles and looks down. “I’m nervous. I haven’t been on a date in a while. Plus, you know. You’re intimidating as hell.”

“Am I?” Castiel asks, frowning.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “You are. You’re smart and hot and serious. I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to impress you before the clock runs out.”

Castiel sighs, looking away. He’s constantly torn between trying to push people away and hurting them for his own good, and letting people close so as not to hurt them. He’s put Dean in a hard spot, trapped between the walls of the two. “May we stop at the hotel so I could put these in my room in some water?”

“We may,” Dean replies, smiling. Castiel begins to walk, holding the flowers in one hand and thinking very hard. Dean uses the moment to grab his hand and hold it as they walk, which could be worse. Castiel’s hand gets too sweaty in a minute, and he pulls away and laughs awkwardly and apologizes, but Dean just smiles and looks at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

Castiel’s room is on the second floor and Dean stands by the door, looking around in fascination while Castiel finds something to put the flowers in. The room is surprisingly pretty. The walls are some kind of champagne or something with fancy swirling things, and the carpet is a boring, fluffy brown, but he’s combated it with a lot of blue and green. There’s a worn leather recliner in the corner with a blue quilt thrown across it, and a bookcase next to it with a snow globe and a few books and magazines arranged on it. The room is smaller than Dean and Sam’s, but for just one person, it’s enough. There are blue curtains on the window which has been left open all day, letting in the lazy afternoon sun and a warm, dry breeze. The vase that Castiel has picked from the cabinet hung above the sink is a curved, old looking thing with blue, green and pink details.

“Your place is nice,” Dean says. “I mean, it’s got personality. It’s got- Well, it looks like you actually live here. Most people don’t bother decorating or anything.”

Castiel looks up from the vase and then looks around the room briefly, before turning back to the sink and pulling the vase out from under the tap.

“Well, why shouldn’t it? I do live here.”

“It should. You do. People just… I guess it’s been difficult for people to settle. Going from, like, nice houses or even nice apartments, to a room and a half. Where’d you get the chair?” Dean asks, watching as Castiel rather lovingly places the flowers in the vase. He’s elegant and soft and Dean stares without meaning to. He’s got big strong hands that move delicately and precisely, perfect for working with flowers from the field beyond the walls or the skinned knee of a child wearing a brave front.

“I helped on a supply run once not long after I got here and Meg Masters told me I had earned it. She helped me bring it up the stairs,” Castiel explains. He puts the vase on the dining table on the threshold between the tiny kitchen and the tiny living room, and he steps back to look at the flowers with a smile. “They’re pretty, Dean.”

Dean grins, blushing a little. “Good. I’m kind of surprised you like them. I always thought getting flowers for your date was a cheesy, fake thing they did in movies.”

“I can’t speak for every other person who’s ever been given flowers, but I promise I really do love them. Would you like to be going now?” Cas asks. Dean nods, perhaps too enthusiastically and takes Castiel’s hand. He lifts the bag in his other to bring attention to it.

“I’ve got pie and water. I didn’t bring any real food. Didn’t know what to do, really.”

They begin out the door, Castiel not doing anything to calm Dean’s apparent concern over what he’d brought, and Dean leads them out of the building and into the street, walking to the end of the road and stopping at the wall. The wall around the town makes the place seem cramped, and many men and women gave their lives so it could be built, but it keeps the angels out and it makes people feel safe.

Dean walks along the wall, going back until they’re behind the buildings.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks.

“Shh, it’s a surprise. You’ll like it,” Dean promises, giving him a reassuring smile. Castiel gets an idea of where they’re going when they get to a metal ladder, cemented into the wall and leading all the way to the top. The wall isn’t that high. It’s only two stories or so, which many of the buildings in town are. The hotel is the only one that’s more, reaching a full four floors. Cas has always loved to visit Meg for that reason, her room being on the fourth floor. She has a balcony where Cas will sit cross legged with his hands on the rail, his forehead resting against it and looking out. He thinks it’s a peaceful thought. She can wake up every morning and forget for a moment that her world has gone to hell in a hand basket.

Meg says she doesn’t like looking out, but she’ll sit with Cas when he’s there. She says she hates to see the angels, blindly stumbling through the treeline. Castiel likes to see them. It gives him comfort knowing they’re still there. He’s going to fix it all someday, he muttered once, and Meg gave him a look that didn’t question him.

“Do it soon,” she’d said. “I’m tired of them.”

Dean puts the rings of the plastic bag in the crook of his elbow. “You go up first.”

Castiel frowns and begins to climb, hearing Dean come up after him seconds later.

“You’ve got a nice butt,” Dean says.

“Are we going to get in trouble for this?” Castiel asks. When they reach the top, Castiel is stunned into silence by the sight. It’s a beautiful sunny evening, warm air blowing the tall grass beyond the wall. It’s pretty and quiet up there, and he finds that they feel amazingly alone. It’s a rare feeling, packed into this town with so many other people.

“No, we won’t get in trouble, Cas,” Dean assures him, setting the bag down next to them and sitting next to Cas. Most of the wall is only a few feet thick, but here it has been built out so there’s a ledge and little danger of falling.

“It’s very lovely here,” Castiel says, staring out across the green, lit brightly by the sun which is about to set soon. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Dean breathes a sigh and stretches his legs out. “I got a question.”

“Alright.”

“How old are you really?” Dean asks.

Castiel looks at him, seeming surprised. “We decided I was 35.”

“No, but,” Dean says, and then huffs. “How old are you, Cas?”

Castiel looks out again and decides to give the question more thought. “How many birthdays do you think a person should have before they stop counting?”

“Uh, all of them. They’re important, whether it’s your 10th or your 100th,” Dean answers. Castiel chews on his lip as he thinks.

“What kind of pie did you bring?” he asks.

“Blackberry,” Dean replies. “I’m not sure if this is mysterious and charming or fucking annoying.”

Castiel frowns. “I don’t know how old I am, Dean.”

“How- What do you mean? How can’t you know?” Dean asks, eyes wide. Castiel cracks his knuckles one by one as he looks out toward the treeline, searching for a sign of an angel.

“I tell people I’m 33, because that’s what Crowley figured I’d be, but the truth is, I don’t know. It didn’t matter as much where I came from. Maybe at first, long ago, but you stop counting them. I still celebrated them, and if I sat down and thought it out, I could probably remember most of the birthday parties my brother ever threw for me, but I just don’t know how many there really were,” Castiel explains. Dean watches with narrowed eyes as Cas speaks, fascinated by the aged, eloquent way he goes on.

“Where are you from?” Dean asks. Castiel snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Why don’t we talk about you a bit? How old are you?” Cas asks.

“29,” Dean says. “You really don’t know how to answer my questions, do you?”

Castiel frowns and looks at Dean. “No, not really.”

“Did you lose your memory?”

“No,” Castiel says. “No, but I should have said yes. That’s a better answer than I’ll ever be able to give you.”

“You’re lying. A lot. You’re hiding something, then?” Dean asks.

“Actually,” Castiel begins. He makes eye contact with Dean, hoping it will solidify the fact that he’s telling the truth this time. “Yes.”

“Okay. Well, I’m from here. Well, not here. Not this particular town. But I’m from Lawrence. I lived in a neighborhood a ways away, but I’d been here a few hundred times before the walls went up,” Dean says. “What can I ask you?”

“You could ask about things I like,” Cas suggests. “Or you could tell me about things you like. Or about Sam. You could talk about what you like to do.”

Dean nods, considering the suggestions. “What do you like, then? Favorite color?”

Castiel laughs, “Green or blue. Yellow is nice, too.”

“You said you had a brother,” Dean says. “What happened to him?”

Castiel locks up and the smile falls from his face as he processes the question. He says softly, “I don’t know. I lost him.”

Dean stays quiet and waits for more, and eventually Cas obliges.

“We were separated. It’s- I miss him dearly, but there’s nothing I can do. I just hope he doesn’t get himself killed,” Castiel says. “Uh, his name was Gabriel. He was- He is the nicest person I’ve ever met. He’s also the loudest. The most inappropriate. But he was always kind. He wasn’t- I had a lot of other siblings. A lot. But he was the only one that ever seemed worth calling family.”

Dean folds his hands in his lap.

“If you told them, you could probably get people to help you look. I’d help you look,” Dean says. Castiel hangs his head and smiles down at his hands.

“I lost him when- when the angels fell. So, he’s been gone four years. I’d imagine that he isn’t worth searching for.”

“You don’t think he’s dead,” Dean realizes.

“No, I don’t. I don’t think he’s exactly alive, either, but… What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue, maybe. Been big on that color since I met you,” Dean says. “I’ve got theories.”

“Theories?” Cas says.

“Yeah, on why you’re so mysterious.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “I would have to tell you if you were right if you told me, so perhaps you shouldn’t.”

“You’re a vampire,” Dean says. Castiel tilts his head.

“I’m not sure what a vampire is, Dean.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip and opens the bag, pulling out a bottle of water and handing it to Cas before taking one for himself. “Alright. I’ve got a real theory, but I’m worried I am right. Then I’d have to do something about it. It would be terrible for both of us. I don’t know what would happen.”

“So don’t say it,” Castiel says, opening the bottle and taking a drink.

Dean seems satisfied by the suggestion, and he leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky.

“It’s a beautiful day. I’m glad you agreed to go out with me.”

Castiel smiles, genuine, warm. “Me, too.”

“You’ve never dated before. You a virgin?”

“Dean,” Castiel chides, wearing an amused smile. “That’s none of your business.”

“I don’t know if that’s a yes or a no. I’m taking it as a yes, and I’m going to assume you’d be cute and awkward in bed.”

“I’m not sleeping with you,” Castiel assures him.

“Will you kiss me?” Dean asks. Castiel sets his water bottle down and climbs on top of Dean, pushing him so he’s lying down on the concrete wall.

“If you think you want me to,” Castiel says. “Maybe.”

Dean adjusts, opening his legs and tangling them up with Cas’s.

“I’d love you to,” Dean replies.

“I am hiding something, though. And you have a plausible theory. If your theory is bad and it’s correct, would you still kiss me?”

Dean considers it. “Yeah. Long as you were still you.”

“Alright. What’s your theory?”

“Well, you avoid talking about a life before the angels fell. You’re old but you stopped counting birthdays. You’ve never dated or done anything like it. You came in during the night and in secrecy and when I asked if I could see how the new guy was doing, Crowley wouldn’t let me in. Said you were recovering from an injury, but Cole said you didn’t say you were hurt when you were at the gate,” Dean says. “I’m fucking intrigued by you, Cas, and I feel bad treating you like a damn detective case but… I think you’re an angel.”

Castiel tries to sit up and Dean puts his arms around his neck.

“Cas.”

“Yes,” he says. “I am.”

Dean lets Cas get up and then sits up himself, facing him.

“They cut your wings off when you came.”

“Yes,” Castiel answers. “They didn’t want to cause a panic.”

“Did it hurt? Does it hurt now?”

Castiel looks down. “Sometimes. But I get to live here and enjoy a life. People speak to me. Angels- The angels don’t speak, not even to me. They never attacked but they were never sentient enough to be my friends.”

“You fell with them.”

“Yes,” Castiel says.

“Did you- Was it on purpose?”

“God cast us out and Earth made us feral. What’s more is, our wings didn’t work anymore when we hit the ground. He took our grace. He was foolish. We all have a right to be sometimes.”

“Why? Why would he do that?” Dean asks, his eyes filling with tears. Finally, these answers come. Oh, how long it’s been! Wondering why, why.

“I don’t know.”

“Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven?” Dean questions, not at an angle for the moment where he can see the humor in the words.

“Yes. Not physically, but… The stars looked so different from that perspective, Dean. I cried and I cried and nobody heard me and everyone I loved…” He stops and lets out a choked, sobbing sound. “What about you?”

“What?” Dean asks.

“Did it hurt, Dean?”

Dean realizes that it’s a comment on his insensitivity. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“You’re the only person who knows about me other than Crowley and Bobby.”

“Alright. I won’t tell anyone, Cas,” Dean says. “Do you- Are there scars?”

“Yes. They’re ugly. You may not see them.”

“Alright,” Dean agrees. “Alright. Can I kiss you?”

“You may,” Castiel says, looking up from where his eyes have been trained on the ground. Dean scoots closer and then leans in, pressing his lips to Cas’s. Castiel can kiss just fine, Dean finds. He doesn’t kiss Dean in the way he hoped for when he met Castiel, open mouthed and rough. He kisses slow and carefully, deliberately, and now that Dean’s had time to know Cas, it’s exactly what he expects and what he needs.

Dean likes touching Cas, because he’s solid and muscular, smooth tan skin and warmth like the sun. It’s been a long minute since Dean has gotten to be close to anyone. Just holding Cas’s bicep, feeling him. It’s electrifying, and soft, and warm.

Cas doesn’t overthink. He doesn’t worry or examine every touch and feeling of the moment, he just thinks, ‘hey, this is nice,’ and it is.

Dean pulls his mouth away from Cas’s so he can look at where he‘s moving, not wanting to get too close to the edge or sit on Cas’s hand. He gets a little closer and plans to return to kissing, but Cas is looking at the trees and touching his lips with thought.

“That was nice,” Cas says.

Dean breathes a laugh. “Yeah.”

Cas brings his eyes back to Dean’s and looks a little shameful, a little sorry. “What now?”

“I have no idea,” Dean admits, and he can’t find it in his heart to be worried about it. “Maybe we could eat.”

Castiel nods as he moves around, pulling the plastic bag closer and putting some distance between he and Dean. Dean opens the bag and takes the foil off the top of the pie tin. It’s got two pieces missing, one for Ellen Harvelle and one that Sam had this morning, looking positively blue as he pushed it toward Dean at the dining table and said he didn’t feel like finishing it. Dean unwraps the metal forks in the bag from the napkins and hands one to Cas, and puts a piece of pie on both the plastic plates he’s set between then.

Cas seems to enjoy the pie a lot, maybe because it’s delicious and fresh, or maybe because it means he doesn’t have to continue on in Dean’s seemingly endless quest for conversation.

Dean doesn’t mind, and he eats while looking out at the sunset with Cas.

Dean doesn’t say anything else about angels or heaven or God for the rest of the night, and they talk about books and the theatre and Sam instead. Castiel likes it most when Dean talks about Sam, because the pride and the fondness written in the creases of his eyes and the laugh lines near his mouth give Cas the impression that Dean likes that subject most as well. Dean walks Cas to his room, even though Dean and Sam live on the first floor, and Cas asks him in, promising nothing in the invitation.

They sit at the dining table in mismatched wooden chairs that groan.

“This was nice,” Cas says.

“I’m glad.” Dean is nervous, trying to figure out if it’s too much to just lean over the table and kiss Cas. When can they get back to the kissing?

“You can’t tell Sam.”

Dean scratches an itch on the back of his wrist. “You don’t want my brother to know I’m seeing you?”

“No, Dean. You can’t tell him about me being what I am,” Castiel clarifies. Dean nods, his mouth opening in realisation before snapping shut. He looks around the kitchen. It’s a sink, two feet of counter space, a hot plate, and a trashcan shoved into the corner where there used to be a mini-fridge. It’s not much, but most isn’t.

“Right. Well, I said I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Dean responds, looking back at Cas. Cas looks serious, like the heaviness of this outweighs the fun of the night.

“I just want to make sure you know that includes Sam,” he says.

Dean gives a tight smile. He’s not sure how to talk about this, or if he should, and questions he shouldn’t ask drum against his grey matter like Zeppelin. He’s happy not talking about Castiel being an angel, but if they do, it’s a topic with legs and they’ll be here all night.

They don’t, because Dean takes Cas’s hand. “I understand. It’s a secret.”

“You can tell him about us, though,” Cas assures him. “You can tell anyone. We aren’t a secret.”

Dean’s chair cries as he drags it across the tile to get nearer to Cas. He leans in and puts his lips to Castiel’s, and Cas puts a strong hand on the back of Dean’s neck, which is hot and flushed red from the excitement of the evening and from the sun beating down today while he worked outside on a car.

They move to the recliner, fingers no longer timid as they touch warm skin and tangle into hair.

Dean doesn’t spend the night, because neither of them want that. They kiss until they don’t and Cas stands with Dean at the door, looking devastated that he has to go, but looking just as sure that he can’t stay.

“Was it worth going out with me?” Dean asks.

Cas is an angel, whose siblings beyond the walls of their tiny town will rip out the intestines of any human passerby. He had wings once, and knew God, and he’s the only one of his kind who carries the weight of humanity on his shoulders.

“For that delicious pie? Absolutely,” Cas jokes. Dean has his wrist resting on Cas’s shoulder as he leans against the door, staring into the bluest eyes he’s known in a while.

“Well, Ellen sells those at the corner store. Benny Lafitte makes ‘em,” Dean says. “So, dating Benny might be your best bet.”

Cas hums, trying to play at thoughtful but grinning while he does so. “I think you’re my best bet, Dean.”

Dean bites his lip trying to quell a smile and the loud thump-thumping of his heart.

“You’ll stop by the clinic tomorrow?” Cas asks. They’re something now, boyfriends, and Cas is worried that Dean is going to stop dropping by to pester him.

Four or five dates from now, trips to the top of the fence and dinners at both of their apartments (one with Sam who loves Cas wholeheartedly and listens to him talk with doey eyes and a fond smile, innocent and interested), Dean and Castiel will break down and talk about the elephant in the room. Cas will say, low and sure, that he’s going to fix it one day. He has no plan, just too much heart, and Dean thinks its scary, but hopeful, like anything else that’s ever mattered.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Dean promises. Castiel swallows and reaches for the knob of the door, opening it for Dean. Dean steps into the hall, his fingers sweaty tangled in the thin plastic of the grocery bag with their dinner inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They’re going fall hard for each other if they haven’t already and Dean is going to wish he could protect Castiel from the burden he carries, but he’ll be able to do little more than help carry it.

They’ll fuck in the recliner one night and while he’s coming down, sat in Castiel’s lap with his face buried in his neck while Cas is buried in him, Dean will see the scars on his back, two big thick stripes of white emblazoned into the skin. He won’t say anything because, like Sam for Dean, silence is Castiel’s favorite topic. He’ll kiss Cas, and love him, and it’ll be the best he can do, and he’ll do it for as long as Cas will let him.

“You will,” Cas replies. He watches Dean walk down the hall toward the stairwell, throwing back a few pretty, green-eyed glances, and disappears inside, going to sit in his recliner, holding his hand to his breast to feel his heart pounding in his chest.

It’s the end of the world, and it may take work, but it’s all going to turn out fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it, even a 'nice!' will suffice. It's the first writing I've finished in a very long time. Thank you for reading.


End file.
